


Where Demons Fear to Tread

by RachelAMorph54



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-31
Updated: 2020-05-26
Packaged: 2021-02-28 22:47:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23404741
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RachelAMorph54/pseuds/RachelAMorph54
Summary: Two months after the Apocalypse-that-wasn't Crowley is in danger.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 22





	1. The World as it Is

Most angels didn’t sit at bars. Most angels also didn’t team up with a demon to stop the apocalypse. Aziraphale wasn’t most angels, and in the two months since the world failed to end he was finally comfortable with that. He sat at his usual spot at the bar one seat from the wall. The vacant red bar stool closest to the wall didn’t just seem  _ empty _ . It seemed to radiate disappointment whenever he glanced at it, and he made the unfortunate mistake of glancing at it a lot since he arrived.

The bartender also glanced at it as he uncorked a bottle and poured a glass of red wine. Mickey Tucker, a man in his 30’s with a well-groomed beard and a soft-spoken voice, was a friendly chap. The sort that thrived in this setting. He gave the regular’s nicknames and did this in such a jovial way that everyone just accepted the names they were given. Even Crowley had not objected.

“Raphael, where’s your boyfriend tonight?” he asked as he placed the glass down in front of Aziraphale.

“He’s not really…” said Aziraphale, but decided there was absolutely no point in trying to explain his relationship with Crowley to a human. No human could ever understand it. It had been over 6,000 years and he wasn’t sure even  _ he _ understood it. 

Crowley and Aziraphale had been frequenting this bar since they averted the apocalypse. Neither of them remembered it prior to the events of that fateful Saturday, but with a name like Apple and Sword it had caught their attention. They had gone in to satisfy their curiosity, but it turned out to satisfy both Aziraphale’s love of fine wines and Crowley’s love of things that were trendy. The bar managed to blend both modern and classic styles, maintaining a sleek minimalist look yet still remaining cozy. The well worn oak bar and wooden tables gave it a warm inviting feel while the modern lamps hanging down from the ceiling on crisscrossing poles and chic red chairs and bar stools attempted to give it an only-trendy-people-belong-here vibe. It did both and neither. Somehow it just worked, and it suited them both. 

“Don’t even try to deny it. I’ve seen the way you look at Mr. Anthony J. Sunglasses, and it might be less obvious, but I’ve seen the way he looks at you too.” 

“Crowley decided to check out one of those open-air concerts. Not my cup of tea, I’m afraid.”

The angel took a sip of his wine and tried to let go of the disappointment. Let Crowley have tonight. Aziraphale was used to being in the thick of things. If he had still been on Heaven’s good side Gabriel would have probably given him an assignment tonight. Most events of any moderate magnitude he’d be assigned a job. It felt good to sit this one out and just breathe, not that he needed to breathe.

“One of those Doomsday concerts?” asked the bartender. Aziraphale turned back to look at him. 

“That’s an unusually pessimistic outlook, especially coming from  _ you _ . It’s supposed to be a celebration of what we still have. For example, good wine at a fine restaurant.” He raised his glass, giving Mickey a sort of salute and took another sip. Mickey laughed. 

“I don’t know about ‘fine’, but I like to think the old man and I run a good, clean establishment. I meant no offense to Mr. Sunglasses. I guess, I just don’t see the fuss with this festival. Shutting down whole sections of the city for it and all. Most people can only half remember what happened that day.”

“Maybe that’s the reason,” said Aziraphale, “People do like to make sense of things. I suppose this festival is a way for them to do that. I don’t see anything wrong with it.”

“Obviously you must see something wrong with it otherwise you’d have joined Mr. I-Wear-My-Sunglasses-at-Night. Which one did he go to, anyway? ‘Highway to Hell’ or ‘Kraken’? He seems like a ‘Highway to Hell’ sort of man.” 

Aziraphale failed to hide the smirk on his face. “Neither. He’s going to ‘Escape from Grievous Bodily Harm’,” said Aziraphale.

“That’s one of the band names? And you say it isn’t a Doomsday festival?” 

“I believe the key word in the name is ‘escape’,” said Aziraphale. 

“If you asked  _ me,  _ we haven’t escaped anything,” said a middle-aged woman with an American accent, Boston, if he had to guess. She hadn’t said anything since she sat down. Aziraphale had said hello and she merely nodded at him. Evidently having downed most of her beverage made her more talkative. “Climate is going to shit and so is everything else.” Mickey excused himself to attend to a couple who had just sat down.

“Yes, there may be some terrible things happening, but there are also plenty of  _ good  _ ones,” said Aziraphale, unable to resist the urge to be encouraging. “We mustn’t lose sight of that.” The woman shook her head, her silver earrings swaying as she did. 

“It’s too late. If you asked me, we just postponed it a little. The trouble is no one believes in science anymore. There are people who believe the earth is flat! And the other day I heard someone say they were going to hunt demons at this festival.  _ Demons!” _

“You must have met up with the same people. I heard something similar,” said Mickey, who had handed the couple a drink menu and was giving them a moment to look it over. “Can I get you another drink?”

If anyone had been paying attention to Aziraphale, they would have noticed his cheerful expression slipping. He had heard of humans who blamed demons for the nuclear scare and the other oddities that happened, but just as often he heard theories about aliens and once he even heard a theory about a flying spaghetti monster, but he thought that was mostly a joke. What troubled him in this discussion was the word ‘hunt’.

“Strongbow, and please, none of that ‘golden’ crap or whatever they call the sweet shit that passes as Strongbow in America. Just ignore my accent. I want the real stuff!” 

“You got it!” Mickey smiled, and after a moment he had returned with a bottle, and a clean glass. 

“Excuse me for interrupting, but what was all this about hunting demons?” asked Aziraphale as Mickey poured the cider. 

“Oh, I don’t know,” said Mickey. “These guys were in last night. They were arguing about stealing holy water and putting it in a spray bottle, as a defense against demons at the festival. Can you imagine stealing holy water from a church? They were dead serious about it, too. Didn’t like me laughing.” 

Aziraphale’s face lost most of its color. He pulled out his wallet. “I’d like to settle up. I’m afraid I just remembered some place I really need to be.”

* * *

Crowley parked the Bentley where he liked; he always did and he wasn’t about to stop now. He did, at least, have the lights on. Humans preferred it when his lights were on, especially when it started to get dark. Well, except for when he got out of his car. Then they didn’t like it at all and felt a compulsory need to tell him about it. Crowley parked right next to the flimsy barricade that blocked off the road so that the throngs of people could walk down it without fear of being run over. He got out of his car and had barely taken two steps when a man pointed.

“Sir, you left your lights on.” The man didn’t care that Crowley parked cattywampus on the wrong side of the street up against the barricade plastered with the big no parking signs. Most people tended to accept the Bentley wherever it happened to be as though it belonged there, everyone except traffic wardens, that is, but he always miraculously evaded tickets and towing.

“Sir, your  _ lights _ ,” the man insisted.

Crowley shrugged. “They go off after a minute.”

“But surely that’s an antique.” 

Crowley snapped his fingers and the lights turned off. The man frowned but said nothing further. Crowley slipped between the barricade and walked down the crowded street. He could have parked closer to the actual concert, but tonight wasn’t about the performances, not really. Tonight was about the humans. He wanted to be among them and really soak it in. He shuddered to think all of this might have stopped. 

While the mortals remembered events that nearly resulted in Armageddon in a vaguely fuzzy way, he remembered those same events in vivid terrifying clarity, but few people would remember his involvement and those that did would only have glimpses. As far as the Americans at Tadfield airbase were concerned, nothing out of the ordinary had happened there. There wasn’t so much as a supernatural feather on the security tapes. Crowley had checked.

The demon gave a shudder as he walked, though it was not cold. The worst had not been that business at the airbase. A burning bookshop replayed in his head, causing his heart to race. He stopped mid-stride, causing a few grumbles from the people around him. A strong desire to turn around and go find Aziraphale almost overwhelmed him, but instead he stepped out of the stream of traffic and feigned interest in one of the food vendors menu. He took a few deep breaths, trying to calm his physical form. He trained this body a little too well to react like a human.  _ Is this a panic attack? That’s new, _ he thought. 

_ Aziraphale is safe. He is fine. You’re safe, the world is safe.  _

He bought a bowl of chips to reduce the awkward stares he received from the people inside the food truck. The taste and smell helped ground him. Slowly his surroundings came back into sharp focus; he hadn’t even realized he’d lost sight of the very thing he came to experience. He stood there for a few moments, eating the chips until he got tired of them. He willed away the rest of the remaining anxiety symptoms with a single thought. It was easily done now that he was thinking more clearly. There were advantages to being a demon. 

He decided to enjoy the rest of the night and let Aziraphale have a demon free evening. He would have preferred the angel’s company, but he understood his reasons for not being here. Aziraphale may have appreciated recognition but he didn’t crave it the same way Crowley did. Not that he expected to get credit for saving the world. He preferred what he liked to call ‘anonymous recognition’. He liked it best when everyone nearby was talking or, more often, complaining about something he had orchestrated, but no one knew he had anything to do with it. This gave him a smug sense of satisfaction. He preferred the shadows to the spotlight, but the ineffable plan had made other arrangements tonight. 

People lined the streets. Savory food smells, like that of the chips, drifted and mingled with sugary ones. People laughed. Balloons drifted into the air at the hands of careless children, and would eventually rain down as litter when they popped later that evening. Parents demanded, “take my hand,” and street vendors shouted clamoring for attention. Crowley approached one of the vendor stands that glowed like Christmas and sold every piece of useless light-up junk imaginable. A father with two boys stood in front of the stand. A short distance away, a grey-haired man with a stack of paper stared at Crowley. This didn’t escape Crowley’s notice. Though his sunglasses hid his eyes from view, he avoided eye contact all the same. That’s what you do if you didn’t want to be handed pamphlets or asked to sign petitions or be sold something you didn’t need. A demon didn’t spend 6,000 years on Earth without learning that. 

Crowley may have been too late to save the other eight balloons littering the sky, but the ninth one drifted into the air almost exactly as he passed. The smallest of the two boys by the glow wand seller stared at it for a moment and then began to cry. Crowley leapt into the air, and even though the string was just out of reach he caught it anyway. He stooped to hand it back to the boy. 

“Now you hold on tightly to that,” said Crowley sternly, “You see the other balloons up there.” Crowley pointed to an orange one well above the rooftops, but still very prominent against the darkening sky. The boy nodded solemnly. “Those are never coming back.” The father who had been helping his older son pick out a lightsaber-shaped glow wand turned his attention to his younger son.

“What do you say to the nice man who rescued your balloon?” he prompted. Crowley tried not to wince at the word “nice”. 

“Thank you!” said the boy, giving him a grin. “Thank you! Thank you!” 

“Don’t mention it!” said Crowley before turning to walk away. 

The gray-haired man lurking with the papers scowled in his direction. Crowley pointedly ignored him, until the man deliberately stepped into his path and began to shout. 

“This is you, isn’t it? Isn’t it?” 

He waved what looked to be a photograph in his face. Crowley bit back a sarcastic remark about being unable to see anything waved that vigorously in front of him. His demon eyes saw better than humans. Something in the photo caught his eye and a chill ran up his spine. He snatched the photo out of the man’s hand with lightning speed and stared hard at it. 

_ This is wrong, _ thought Crowley, V _ ery, very wrong, _ but his face gave no outward sign of his thoughts, except for a reflexive swallow as he noticed the caption. The man’s shrewd eyes peered out at him from beneath very wild looking thick grey eyebrows. He noticed Crowley’s display of fear. Crowley noticed him noticing, but pretended not to. It was yet another example of the price he paid for training his body to automatically emulate humans. Most of the time it worked to his advantage. It would have been very distracting to actively remember to breathe all the time. This was not one of those moments. 

Crowley shrugged, hoping that if he feigned indifference the man would forget what he thought he noticed. He handed the man back the photograph slowly the way a weary commuter might hand over a bus pass. “There is a bit of a resemblance, I suppose.” He said, but the man’s glowering stare continued. Crowley stepped to the side, but the man mirrored his motion refusing to let him pass. 

Crowley became aware of the eyes on them. A small crowd gathered in a loose circle. Before this moment, the festival interested Crowley in the same way that a documentary about Nostredame might interest Aziraphale. It now interested him the same way a lone woman would be interested in a figure lurking in a darkened alley. 

He wanted to run.

“It  _ is  _ you!” the man insisted. “You’re the demon of Tadfield. You tried to destroy the world.” 

Crowley forced a laugh, that was not convincing. 

“Don’t be ridiculous; it’s photoshopped. There are clear signs.” 

Crowley knew none of these signs, but he didn’t expect to be asked to elaborate. He made yet another attempt to slide past the man. 

The crowd surrounding him grew in size. Most of them held or wore glowing objects and all of them held photographs. They glanced back and forth from the photo to Crowley, confusion on their faces. After 6,000 plus years on Earth, Crowley had become adept at discerning the motivations of humans, and the mob mentality had always terrified him more than he would ever admit. He realized they were not trying to decide if he was the same man from the photograph, as most of them already decided he was. No, what they were trying to decide was if this was a performance or something else. It was the  _ something else _ that worried Crowley. The man accused him of being a demon. If he performed a demonic miracle to escape, he would only prove them right, or would he? Crowley grinned. This was the 21st century. It didn’t have to be a large miracle, just a flashy one.  _ Oh, I’m going to have fun with this. _

Crowley turned and fixed the man with a stare. The stack of photos leapt out of the man’s hand straight into the air, where they exploded with a pop into flaming bits of confetti. The crowd gasped and jumped back a few feet to avoid the dome of flames raining down, not that the paper posed any real danger. The flames went out well before they landed on the crowd. 

Now that he let them know it was a performance, it was time to put on a little show. 

“I  _ am _ a demon!” said Crowley loudly with a hint of a hiss. He grabbed the man by his shirt collar, “And you shall let me pass! For I like the world as it is!” Crowley pointed at the crowd in a big sweeping arc and hissed. “Such malice, such  _ fear _ ! SUCH destructive potential! Why would I  _ ever  _ want it to stop?” he asked, pausing for dramatic emphasis before spitting out, “A dead world has no malice.” 

The crowd cheered, eating it up; a drunk 20 something in the back pumped his fist in the air shouting  _ “Ma-lice, Ma-lice, Ma-lice,” _ and a few of his friends joined him. Crowly faced the man, now properly terrified, and released him. “Good people,  _ bad  _ people,  _ listen! _ Demons don’t  _ want _ Armageddon. We are on  _ your _ side!” As Crowley said this last part a small burst of fireworks crackled immediately overhead. The man who had accosted him ran off and the crowd cheered all the louder. He took a bow and ducked into a side street, grinning at his own brilliance. He remained grinning until something very heavy hit him in the back of the head. 

* * *

Aziraphale found Crowley’s Bentley easily enough, an antique like that stands out, especially since it was always parked where it ought not to be. Finding him in all these people would be much more difficult. Aziraphale had attempted calling Crowley from a payphone before he hailed a taxi, but he hadn’t answered. He hoped that was only because in all this noise he hadn’t heard it ring.

Aziraphale squeezed past the barricade and headed down the street scanning the faces for Crowley and for any suspicious figures armed with plant misters. He hurried forward towards the park where discordant noise that passed for music seemed to be emanating. Escape from Grievous Bodily Harm sounded to Aziraphale like it would cause grievous harm to one's eardrums if he got much closer; that is, it would if he had been mortal. In his haste, he slipped and nearly lost his balance. He looked down at the glossy paper underfoot. Most people would have grumbled and kept on walking. Fortunately, Aziraphale still couldn’t resist doing good. If he slipped on this, then someone  _ else  _ might slip and they could get hurt. He moved his foot and stooped to pick it up; as he did, the light from a nearby window illuminated it. Crowley’s face stared back at him emerging from a car completely engulfed in flames. 

“Oh, this can’t be good,” the angel muttered, “Not good at all.” As he considered exactly what sort of not good this was, a boy leapt from the doorway of a nearby restaurant. 

“For I like the world as it isss,” hissed the boy, pointing the mini lightsaber-shaped glow wand at Aziraphale. “It’s full of malice!” The boy gave a mock-evil laugh and Aziraphale noticed the photo in his hand. A younger boy holding a balloon followed behind him. 

“Ma-lice! Ma-lice! Ma-lice!” cheered the young boy, gleefully punching the air and causing the balloon to bobble in a very unmalicious way.

“Yes, alright, that’s quite enough of that,” huffed a tired looking man in exasperation as he emerged from the restaurant behind them.

“Excuse me,” said Aziraphale.” Could you tell me where everyone got these photographs?”

The father looked at Aziraphale wearily and said, “Some street performers handed them out. Bloody brilliant, but my sons liked it a little too much, I’m afraid.”

“He’s a demon, but he’s on our side,” added the older boy helpfully. 

“Right, um... would you happen to know where this, err,  _ actor  _ went?” asked Aziraphale hopefully. “I’m supposed to… err,  _ help _ with the next performance, but I’m running a bit late.” It wasn’t exactly a lie, reasoned Aziraphale. If there was a ‘next performance’, he intended to be part of it. 

“He took a bow and ducked down that alley,” said the father. 

Aziraphale frowned. “Thank you. Thank you very much,” he said before hurrying off. 

Crowley wasn’t in the alley. What Aziraphale  _ did  _ find turned his blood into ice. Lying next to a dumpster lay a pair of sunglasses, the exact kind Crowley wore with the mesh to block his snake-like eyes from view even in profile. Only one lens remained intact, the other shattered. Aziraphale suspected the tire iron propped up against the dumpster might have had something to do with this. He picked up the glasses and they repaired themselves as he did. The sunglasses confirmed two things. His friend was still alive, and in danger. He couldn’t have been sprayed with Holy water, at least not here. Aziraphale felt certain of that. If Crowley had melted, the sunglasses would have been warped, as if from heat. These were only shattered. 

He quickened his pace down the alley. “Crowley!” he shouted, desperation in his voice. “CROWLEY!”

_ Where could they have taken him? He must be somewhere nearby. You can’t just drag a man around a crowded street without someone noticing.  _

Then he saw it. 

Where the alley joined the road up ahead, a pointed silhouette reached up toward the sky that could only be a church steeple. Aziraphale ran full speed, his footsteps echoing off the buildings.

_ Let me be in time…Please let me be in time. _

* * *

A pervasive burning feeling greeted Crowley as he drifted back into consciousness. He first became aware of it on his face, like a bad sunburn, and gradually became aware of the same feeling, only marginally less intense, over most of his right side. Indistinct voices murmured quietly somewhere nearby. A throbbing in the back of his skull reminded him of the blow he received after stepping into the alley. He opened his eyes. 

“Oh, that explains it,” he muttered as the overall churchy-ness of the room came into focus. Rows of pews lay out in front of him. He lifted his face off the floor and the burning subsided. This did nothing to alleviate the pain in the rest of his body, which was still in contact with the consecrated ground give or take a few millimeters of clothing. He struggled to sit up, desperate to get as much of his body away from contact with the floor as possible. He felt the uncomfortable tug of ropes around his wrists behind his back and another set around his ankles. 

He could get rid of the ropes easily, but he wasn’t ready to give that away just yet. His captor might be watching and his ability to perform miracles inside a church were limited. He might need the element of surprise. Slowly, Crowley turned his head so he could see his feet. They weren’t just bound, they were also tied to something. His eyes followed the stone column upward about 3 feet where it fanned out into a basin. He let out an involuntary gasp, before resolving to stay very, very still. The muttering grew louder.

“Did you get a look at his eyes? What are we waiting for?” said a voice. “He is obviously a demon.”

“He’s starting to stir. We should do it now!” said another. 

“No, not yet,” said a third. “I want to hear him  _ beg _ . I want him to know he’s beaten.”

Crowley identified the location of the conversation as above and behind him. Ever so carefully, he shifted his body to look over his shoulder in that direction. Three men peered down at him from the choir loft. The one in the middle held onto a glass bowl full of water that rested very precariously on the railing. A sinking feeling grew inside of him and his normally vivid imagination went blank. There was no way he’d be able to get rid of the ropes, stand up in time, and run. They were only waiting for him to speak before they dumped the contents of that bowl down on him. These men couldn’t be convinced through words. They knew his act wasn’t a performance because it had been their show all along. If he spoke, he knew the terror in his voice would give him away. Crowley had miscalculated, and he would pay for it with his life.

_ Aziraphale may never know what happened. He might even think I cut a deal with Hell and abandoned him.  _

That thought was too much for Crowley. He was able to locate his mobile phone by the uncomfortable way it dug into his burning skin. He miracled it out of his pocket. It appeared tucked up tightly next to his chest to hide it from view. The angel would never hear his message in time; he was probably still at the bar, but at least he would know what happened. At least Crowley would be able to say goodbye. He hesitated to magically dial the number. What do you say when you only have maybe 10 seconds to sum up thousands of years of friendship? No, that wasn’t the right approach he realized. 

_ Just tell him you love him and that you’re about to die. Keep it simple. _

The phone dialed silently. 

A creaking door sounded very loud in the quiet church, but louder still were the hurried footsteps racing down the aisle. Crowley thought he recognized those outdated two-tone brown boots as the owner skidded to a stop right in front of him. As Crowley looked up, his jaw dropped. He’d never been more relieved to see that face in all his life, except perhaps after the bookshop fire. He grinned at him.

Aziraphale did not grin back. His eyes darted about, quickly surveying the scene before finally fixing on the men above. 

“Who the hell are you!” One of the men shouted. 

“It’s another one. I’ve seen them together. Make it rain! We’ll get them both!” 

Crowley looked up just in time to see the bowl overturn and then everything went dark.

* * *

Aziraphale wiped a splash of water off of his jacket. The men on the balcony gaped. 

“Where did he go? Did it work?”

“Why didn’t it destroy that one? The water got him; I saw it!” The man in the middle pointed at Aziraphale. The men whispered to each other. “Yes, but why didn’t it destroy him?” shouted the one in the middle again.

“Possibly because I’m not a demon,” said Aziraphale, glancing towards the spot where Crowley had been a moment ago, and noticing his mobile phone. He tried not to worry as he bent down to scoop it up. It was soaked but nothing a minor miracle couldn’t fix. 

“Wait! You’re not a member of our order. Who are you?” 

“A member of a higher order,” said Aziraphale. 

“But I’ve  _ seen  _ you with him!” yelled one of them. “You were  _ friends _ .” 

Aziraphale swallowed. 

Were  _ friends… past tense. No, I timed it right. I know I timed it right. He’s safe. He  _ must  _ be safe.  _

“Yes, well… I had to befriend him as part of a bigger plan, you see, so he would lead me to others. You’ve ruined that, I’m afraid.” Aziraphale found when he thought of Crowley, lying came more naturally. Most things were easier when he thought of Crowley. What he was thinking now, or rather trying  _ not  _ to think, was how close Crowley had come to that falling bowl. Just one drop and Crowley would have been gone. 

_ I need to find him. I need to be sure.  _

Aziraphale turned to leave. The men called after him, their voices a jumble of questions, but he ignored them. 

Aziraphale first went back to the Bentley since that was the closest spot, although something told him that Crowley wouldn’t be there. Yes, he loved that car, but after driving through an inferno with it and watching it explode he probably wouldn’t consider it the place he felt most safe and content in all the world. 

Aziraphale did not make a habit of vanishing people, but on the rare occasion he needed to do that, he typically sent them to the place they felt the most content. The trouble was, it wasn’t always exactly perfect. An unhappy adult might have last felt comfortable in their old childhood bedroom. They would arrive in their old bedroom regardless of who owned the home decades later, and that could be very dangerous for them. Crowley’s favorite places changed every decade, sometimes sooner. Aziraphale didn’t expect to find him easily. He just hoped he’d sent him to a recent place of contentment and not some castle from the 14th century that had since fallen to ruins. He had never intended to use the trick on a demon. 

Aziraphale tried the nearby bars, including Apple and Sword. 

“Raphael! You’re back,” Mickey grinned. Aziraphale wasted no time on pleasantries. He barely wasted time on being polite as he asked about Crowley. “Mr. Sunglasses? Sorry, no I haven’t seen him.”

The curly haired waitress at the next bar grinned, as Aziraphale showed her Crowley’s sunglasses. 

“Oh I’ve seen him; always wearing sunglasses, that one,” she replied and Aziraphale brightened. “Saw him some time last week. Hasn’t been in since.” 

Aziraphale thanked her and moved on. He briefly considered showing the photo, rather than describing Crowley and showing off the glass, but decided against it. The photo had put Crowley in danger in the first place. He kept it stowed safely in his pocket along with a miraculously exact duplicate of Crowley’s mobile phone.

He tried several more places with similar responses. If he were on a scavenger hunt to find all the places Crowley liked best, he would have been doing well. Almost everyone recognized him by description, but none had seen him recently. As he neared Crowley’s flat, he grew more hopeful. This was the only angel, fallen or otherwise, he’d ever known who enjoyed sleep. Surely his flat must be a place he felt comfortable. 

Aziraphale rang the buzzer. When there was no answer, he snapped his fingers, the door opened, and he stepped inside. 

“Crowley?” He called as he moved through the empty rooms. The place looked as untouched as the last time he had been inside. 

No, even more unlived in than that, not a single dust bunny, not a shelf with one misplaced object, not so much as a wrinkle on the bed or a single unopened piece of mail. Even the TV remote was perfectly placed at a right angle to the table it sat on.  _ How does he live here? Maybe he doesn’t…Maybe it was a mistake to come here. _

“Crowley, where are you?” 

The plants appeared to shudder in response.

Aziraphale walked back through the kitchen heading for the door. Something on the floor caught his eye. He fumbled with the switches until a dim light turned on by the sink. He gasped as his eyes fell to a small mound of congealed something on the floor by the stove. Sticking up out of the pile lay the melted remains of a pair of sunglasses. 

“No!” Aziraphale fell to his knees in the doorway. He couldn’t bring himself any nearer to the twisted remains.  _ Crowley?! No… _


	2. Kill Me with Crepes

Darkness pressed in around Crowley. No, that wasn’t exactly right, the darkness surrounded him, but the pressing was being done by something soft and tangible. It cradled his neck and pressed uncomfortably against his bound arms and legs. Gravity acted upon his limbs differently than a few moments ago. His head tilted backwards but the bottoms of his feet touched the floor. “It’s a chair. I’m sitting in a chair,” he realized. 

Crowley lifted his head and blinked to confirm his eyes were open, but except for a few shapes just beginning to coalesce, his location remained shrouded in darkness. His vision was normally very good in the dark, but even a demon needed time for his eyes to adjust. The burning sensation had vanished, but the throbbing remained in his head. He took a deep breath and the smell of old books and paper brought the entire room into focus. 

“Aziraphale,” he breathed.  _ The angel did it. I’m safe.  _

The ropes fell away from his hands and feet, then vanished. He knew better than to litter in Aziraphale’s bookshop. He rubbed at his wrists, but not because they hurt. He mircled away any lingering discomfort the instant the ropes had been removed, but he had watched so many movies where characters did this after being cut free that he felt the compulsion to do the same even with no one watching. 

A shrill noise caused him to wince and he forgot about his wrists. He looked over at the phone on the desk and glared at it as though that might make it stop. It rang three more times before he realized that was his phone call. He reached for his pocket, but the phone wasn’t there. There was a click as the answering machine picked up and then he heard overlapping voices.”

“The water got him. I saw it!” said a voice that he recognized as one of the demon hunters from the church.

“Hello, you’ve reached the answering,” Aziraphale’s voice paused. “What’s it called?”

“Machine, it's machine.” The recording of Crowley’s voice replied sounding distant from the phone and mildly irritated. Crowley shook his head. “We should fix that,” he muttered.

“Yes, but why didn’t it destroy him?” Shouted the same demon hunter.

“Right, answering machine of — Possibly because I’m not a demon!” Aziraphale interrupted himself, his live voice so full of contempt for demons that Crowley almost questioned why he saved him. “not in at the moment but-”

“Wait! You’re not a member of our order. Who are you?” said another of the demon hunters.

“A member—” a high-pitched squeal completely drowned out the rest of the conversation. 

Crowley cringed as he fumbled for the off button to silence the machine. He assumed the source of the noise had been his soaked phone’s final breath as it absorbed holy water into some key circuit. He had forgotten that phones these days took more than a splash to damage them. He couldn’t know that the noise was actually caused by a miraculous duplication and disintegrating of the phone mid phone call, as the angel slipped it into one pocket and it appeared in another. 

“Now what?” he muttered. Crowley wanted to tell Aziraphale he was safe, but he had no way to do that. The angel would no doubt be worried. He didn’t like whisking people off in this fashion. Crowley sighed and settled back into the chair. A pair of sunglasses appeared in his hand and he put them on. “I guess I just need to wait.” 

He spent the first 20 minutes sitting idly trying not to think about what had almost happened. He spent the next 20 minutes surrendering to the urge to rehash where it all went wrong. 

_ Did I really duck into a dark alley backwards? That was more idiotic than the crepes experiment.  _ He groaned at the memory of the lost crepes. If the practice crepes weren’t such an epic disaster he would have invited Aziraphale over, and they both would have had a very different evening.

His cooking attempt had been going rather well until his sunglasses fogged up from the steam. When he removed them, they slipped from his hand hooking on the side of the frying pan mucking up his perfect crepe while simultaneously melting on the cooking element. The loss of both the crepes and the smoldering sunglasses made Crowley so angry he dumped the entire mess on his floor, frying pan and all. In his anger, the frying pan also melted into black goo. He left it there, a tribute to his failure and a reminder of why he wasn’t worthy of Aziraphale. That had been the moment he changed plans and decided the festival would quell his anger better than a few drinks at a bar. 

_ I’m an idiot. I’ll never be able to make crepes well enough to entice Azirphale back to my flat…  _

In the hours that followed, Crowley wandered the bookshop. He started reading the titles just for something to do. In his boredom, he had almost decided on a book to pull off the shelf when a door slammed. Footsteps echoed through the store. More loud thuds and slams followed. He thought he heard Aziraphale, but the words and tone sounded very unlike his best friend.

“Was that cursing?” wondered Crowley, suddenly concerned. The angel never cursed. More cursing followed, Crowley was certain this time, and noises like books being thrown on the floor with complete disregard for how they landed. He heard the fluttering of pages and a smack as some, he imagined, landed pages first upon the floor. He approached the noise cautiously. 

* * *

  
  


Books flew through the air. Some Aziraphale tossed by hand, others simply flew off the shelves magically and landed full force upon the floor. 

“Bollocks! Where is that blasted compartment? Where is it?” He grumbled, nudging more books aside with an unopened wine bottle. This method of book removal worked less effectively and was completely unsatisfying, so he placed the bottle on the now empty shelf before continuing a more destructive approach on the shelf below. The angel shoved aside a set of signed first edition  _ Harry Potter _ books and sent them crashing to the floor. Pummeling the floor next, were the  _ His Dark Materials  _ series, followed by a row of biographies on famous illusionists. He heaved aside a row of encyclopedias which finally revealed the outline of a door in the back of the shelf. 

Aziraphale paused staring at it for a moment, then he tapped on a rounded spot where the wood grains didn’t line up with the rest of the shelf. The spot, which had been flush with the shelf, popped out. He twisted it halfway around and then pushed it back in. The door clicked and he pulled it open. This book was not a first edition. It was one of 2 books transcribed from the original ancient scroll in the language of Meu. On the cracked leather bound cover, was a symbol that most Londoners might mistake for a map of the M25 orbital motorway. 

Aziraphale reached for it with trembling hands, and as he did he bumped into another book which knocked into the door causing it to swing almost closed. Aziraphale let out a gasp. Recognizing this new book was not a book at all, but his old journal which cataloged almost all his dealings with Crowley. He gingerly picked the journal up off the shelf. Holding it with both hands he stared hard at it, eyes tearing up.

“Okay fine, not yet,” he spoke to the book in a shaky voice.  _ After I read this I’ll really want to do it... _

Aziraphale picked up the wine bottle and started towards his desk, kicking books out of the way as he went. He slammed the unopened bottle on the desk. The tears that formed moments ago now fell down his face. Slumping into his chair he clutched the book to his chest and sobbed. After a moment his eyes fell upon the wine bottle. How many drinks had they shared together? He left it unopened, still clutching the book tightly and wishing he could will it’s subject back into existence, but that was one miracle he couldn’t perform. 

“I wasn’t fast enough to save him. I was right there. Dammit! Why couldn’t I save him? Burn me in hellfire…"

"Absolutely not!" said a voice from the dark. 

_ It can’t be! That sounded like…  _ Aziraphale whirled around as a figure in sunglasses slid into view from behind the mostly empty bookcase. 

“Crowley!” he breathed, his eyes widening. After a moment of gapping, a smile flickered across his face. He stood up tossing the journal to the desk. “But how?” 

Aziraphale wanted to race over to Crowley and throw his arms around him. He didn’t. Books still littered the floor between them and Crowley now stepped cautiously around them. He couldn’t trample through the books, which suddenly mattered again to him, especially since his friend took such care to respect them. Besides, Crowley wouldn’t appreciate a hug. That wasn’t the sort of bond they shared. 6,000 years of human contamination had him wishing for more. 

As Crowley made it safely past the obstacle course, he looked back up at Aziraphale who noticed the concern on his face. The concern, he realized, was due to his unusually bad treatment of books, and probably the swearing. 

“Aziraphale what did they do to you?” asked Crowley. 

It took Aziraphale a minute to realize that he was referring to the demon hunters in the church.

“Nothing, I’m fine,” said Aziraphale. 

Crowley frowned and made a show of looking behind him at the books. “Right, of course silly of me to ask.”

“I’m just glad you’re alright.”

“I wouldn’t have been. If you hadn’t shown up I’d be…” Crowley’s words lingered unfinished on the air as he gave an involuntary shiver. “How the heaven did you know?”

Aziraphale stared at him. His friend's confused expression did not escape his notice, but he had a desperate need to have his own question answered first.

“That mess in your kitchen…” Aziraphale paused, unable to say the rest of the words, as if the words might make Crowley vanish. Could angels hallucinate? No, certainly not, he pushed aside the thought. 

“Err… that’s… That’s nothing important.” Crowley waved a hand dismissively. “Shouldn’t we clean up these books?” he asked looking around at the mess. His eyes rested on a particularly old book that took the brunt of the damage. Aziraphale couldn’t remember which book it was at the moment, and he didn’t really want to recognize it because once he did he was sure its condition would trouble him. It lay open face down, its fragile pages folded and crushed under its own weight. A few pages had even come loose. Crowley waved an arm and the book leapt into his hands. The loose pages fluttered into the air following after the book and re-attached themselves. He flipped through the first couple pages carefully. “This is one of your rare first editions!” 

“That doesn’t matter, Crowley. I thought you were dead!”

Crowley’s jaw fell open, comprehension dawning on his face. “Oh, you thought... But that’s not what  _ that _ looks like. I’ve seen what  _ that _ looks like up close. You’ve seen it up close, and still you thought?”

“The demon I saw,” Aziraphale’s face contorted at the memory. “Wasn’t wearing any clothes when he melted into nothing. But clothes don’t go with you, and neither do sunglasses!”

“But I wasn’t wearing any sunglasses when you miracled me away.” 

“You dress in black. There was a black mess on your floor! And I know you.” Aziraphale swallowed choking back emotion. “You’d want to go out in style.”

Crowley let out a hiss of air, “Fair point.”

“What was that mess?”

Crowley glanced back over at the heap of books. He tapped absentmindedly on the front cover of the book in his hand. 

“Are you really going to leave all these books like this?” Asked Crowley. “It’s not like you.” When Aziraphale said nothing, Crowley made a big sweeping motion with his arm. The damaged spines repaired themselves, the pages unfolded, and the tears vanished. They formed 10 neatly stacked piles up against the bookcase. “I wouldn’t want to put them in the wrong order, or I’d never hear the end of it.” 

Aziraphale’s face softened. “Crowley, what was it that made me think you were dead?” 

His friend frowned, looking very uneasy. He tossed the book in his hand, and it landed gently upon one of the piles. “If you must know, it was a failed experiment. No big deal really.”

“You were cooking something?”

“Yes, can we just drop it? Look I’m alive. I’m not a puddle of goo. Everything’s good,” said Crowley speaking rapidly.

“No, everything is not good! Someone tried to kill you.” Aziraphale’s voice rose an octave. “I thought I wasn’t in time, so you better tell me what that was!”

Crowley let out a sigh. “Alright,” he said and muttered something under his breath. 

“I’m sorry, what was that?”

“Crepes.”

“You made crepes?” He brightened. Then a hint of disappointment crept back into his voice. “and you didn’t tell me.”

“I’m sorry, how thoughtless of me. Shall we go back to my place and eat them off the floor?”

Aziraphale smiled at Crowley. Seeing a look of confusion on Crowley's face only made the fond look on the angel’s face intensify, which in turn made Crowley look even more uncertain. Aziraphale never reacted this way to Crowley’s sarcasm, but a few moments ago he thought he’d never hear that sarcastic voice ever again. 

“Um, what’s that book?” asked Crowley pointing at the desk.

“What book?” Asked Aziraphale, his smile now became a nervous one. 

“That book you tore down half this shelf to find.”

“Oh, um, that book. It’s nothing important.”

“Uh-huh, right,” said Crowley. He stepped closer trying to get a look at the book, but Aziraphale moved to block his view.

“I told you about my embarrassing crepes experiment,” said Crowley, “It’s only fair.”

“Oh alright,” said Aziraphale reluctantly stepping aside. 

Crowley picked up the book and unfastened the cord holding it closed. The pages were of all different weights, textures, and colors, as if they were stitched together through different centuries, which of course they had been. Crowley flipped open the first page, and began to read out loud. 

“My Wily Adversary, a Chronicle of his Wicked Deeds.” Crowley smirked at Aziraphale, who felt his face grow warm. 

“It started as a way to keep track of you. I  _ was _ supposed to keep track of you,” said the angel defensively. “You know find patterns, so I could better thwart your evil plans, that sort of thing, but it didn’t stay that way for long. It became a history of our friendship.”

A small smile formed on Crowley’s face as he thumbed through the pages. Something caught his eye and he paused on that page. Aziraphale stepped closer to get a better view of the page. He nervously read over the demon’s shoulder. 

_ Crowley takes credit for human atrocities that he never had a hand in. He sits back and watches the humans murder each other. I’d say he’s lazy but that is only half true. For a demon, he just isn’t that fond of evil, and he scarcely needs to try these days. Human’s invented a very efficient head cutting machine, as Crowley put it. I compared them to animals, but, as Crowley pointed out, sometimes they are much worse. Of course, I’ve seen them perform great acts of love and compassion too, but Crowley is equally right. I never thought I’d learn something from a demon.  _

_ I’m lucky he showed up. Otherwise, I would have been very inconveniently discorporated, by one of those very efficient head cutting machines.  _

_ We shared crepes together. Oh, I’m a sorry excuse for an angel, but I really did enjoy the company and the crepes, especially once the danger of decapitation had passed.  _

“Those Head cutting machines were brutal,” mumbled Crowley, “No, mention of your little clothing swap miracle, I see.” 

“Oh please don’t start. I still feel guilty about it.”

“Do you really? Feeling guilty about the executioner getting exactly what he deserved,” asked Crowley, who wore a skeptical look.

“Well okay, I feel bad that I don’t feel bad about it,” said Aziraphale, his voice taking on a pathetic tone. “I just let them kill him.”

“The man took pleasure in murdering people. Don’t waste another second feeling bad about it,” said Crowley, giving him a serious look before turning back to thumb through the book.

“Crowley, where did you end up?” said Aziraphale. 

“Hmmm,” said Crowley who was reading once more.

“When I miracled you away. Where did you end up? I’d like to know.”

Crowley pulled his eyes away from the journal. “Here.” He gestured in the air. 

Aziraphale stared at Crowley, his eyes widening.

“Why what’s wrong? Is that bad?” Crowley asked, a frown forming. “Oh, you tried to send me to my flat. Well, don’t worry. It worked out.” 

“You appeared here?” 

“No, technically not here, over there.” Crowley pointed to a chair in the corner of the room. 

“This is the place you feel most content in the entire world?” 

Crowley eyed the bookshop then looked at Aziraphale and shrugged. "I suppose it must be."

For a moment Aziraphale said nothing. He opened his mouth to speak but it just hung there. "But you don't even like books," Aziraphale said, his voice breaking. “My bookshop… because of me?”

“Obviously,” said Crowley. 

“Out of all the other places in London? The entire world…” 

Crowley waved a hand as if London were a trivial smudge on a map. “You know you’re my best friend. Why do you think I was really attempting to make crepes?"

Aziraphale could not resist the impulse any longer and lunged forward to wrap his arms around Crowley. The Demon immediately stiffened and the angel pulled away, feeling his face grow warm with embarrassment. "Sorry, I got carried away."

Crowley sighed. He pulled Aziraphale back towards him with one arm while tossing the journal on the desk with the other. Then folded his other arm around him, as well. "You have absolutely nothing to be sorry for, angel.”

Aziraphale let out a breath and relaxed in Crowley’s arms, wishing there would be more of these moments, but as he folded his arms around the demon felt certain there wouldn’t be any more hugs.  _ I can’t get used to this,  _ he thought,  _ He’s just being kind because I was afraid I’d lost him. I saw him do the same for a frightened child once. That’s all this is. _

  
  
  


_ Aziraphale spread his wings and took flight as the flood waters came, gaining altitude quickly to put distance between himself and the carnage below. Noah’s family and the animals were safe and he didn’t want to watch the rest. Crowley also revealed his true form. Black wings unfolded startlingly beautiful against a golden patch of earth that remained illuminated. This gap in the clouds sealed quickly, and as the sunlight vanished Aziraphale lost sight of Crowley’s silhouette for a moment in the storm. Then he saw him spiralling upward riding a current. He braced himself for the sarcastic remarks that would follow once Crowley spotted him, but they never came.  _

_ Crowley dove suddenly drawing his wings in more tightly and spinning elegantly as he did. At the last possible second he opened them wide to break and landed upon a large boulder. A terrified young girl latched on to Crowley’s arm. He scooped her up, and embraced her for a few moments. Through the noise of the storm raging around them, he thought he heard a whisper. “It's okay. I’ve got you! You’re safe.” Then he spread his wings once more carrying her off towards a wooden boat in the distance. _

__

* * *

  
  


As Crowley held his best friend, knots unwound inside him that had been coiled in on themselves for centuries. He hadn’t meant to fall, and never wanted Hell. He didn’t need Heaven either. He just wanted this moment forever, standing here in this cluttered bookshop with Aziraphale’s arms wrapped around him, feeling the warmth of the angel’s body and the rise and fall of his steady breathing. The hug surprised him, and that was the only reason he nearly botched it. He held the angel tightly feeling really glad he got a second chance. 

Crowley knew it wasn’t really the bookshop where he felt most content. Throughout all of history, all the many places he’d been, it was standing beside Aziraphale where he felt happiest. He trusted this angel, which was a surprise because after he fell he thought he’d never trust anyone ever again. Crowley believed if the angel teleported him for some benign reason, he would have simply appeared right beside him. The only reason this hadn’t happened was because Aziraphale stood inside the splash radius. As to who caused his relocation to this secondary place of safety inside the bookshop, he couldn’t be entirely certain. It might have been his own instinctive understanding of the danger, or it might have the angel’s strong will to protect him.

_ I can’t let myself get used to this. I almost died. That’s all this is about. He doesn’t want this kind of relationship. It’s too tangible, too human and we’re not human. This is a once in an eternity moment that will never come again.  _

Aziraphale squeezed him tightly one last time before pulling away. That was the one thing Crowley hated about time. Moments he wanted to last forever would always end. Crowley tried to pretend it didn’t matter. Then he caught sight of the angel’s face, a flurry of subtle expressions danced there. Aziraphale’s classic I-love-you-but-I-can't-let-you-see-it routine was as adorable as it was frustrating. He’d caught sight of it only a few times prior to the apocalypse-that-wasn’t, but he’d witnessed it a lot in the last two months. It seemed even more obvious tonight. 

_ Does he know there is nothing I wouldn’t do for that face?  _

“I don’t expect you’ve done that very often,” said Aziraphale after a moment. 

“Why did I get it wrong?” asked Crowley, feeling ashamed of the disappointment he heard creeping into his own voice. 

“No, no, not at all. You got it right. It’s just, I can’t imagine demons hug very often.”

Crowley shrugged in an attempt to feign indifference, as he tried to suppress his own feelings. Why was the angel talking about this? Was he trying to torment him?

“About 5 times before tonight,” said Crowley, keeping his voice carefully neutral, “and none of them were real. Just part of a manipulation, a temptation...” He didn’t add that all of the temptations had been spectacular failures.

Aziraphale smirked at him. 

“You find that funny, do you, angel? Unlovable demon, cut off for eternity, avoids displays of affection, there’s a big surprise for you,” said Crowley sarcastically. 

“What? No, I was just thinking there were a good deal more than 5 and they might have been reluctant on your part but they were real enough.”

“What the heaven are you talking about?”

“I’d estimate at least 40,” said Aziraphale earnestly, “although, it could have been more than one a day? As I recall, the first stowaway in history was very frightened, so she could have easily needed more hugs.”

Crowley’s jaw fell open. “You  _ knew  _ about that?”

Aziraphale wore a rare mischievous smile. “You might remember that well timed distraction when all the large herbivores escaped, while you were getting her settled.”

“That was you?” 

“I’ll never admit to that,” said Aziraphale as his smirk grew wider.

“I thought you flew off after the first day and only came back for the rainbow. I never knew you were there.”

“That’s because I didn’t want anyone to know. I couldn’t be seen helping you. Imagine if heaven found out I helped a demon thwart God’s plan, and such an evil plan it was rescuing that child.” The angel’s widening grin told Crowley just how evil he thought it really was. 

“You’re more cunning than I realized.” Crowley shook his head to clear the memory as a more pressing thought came into his mind. “How did you know to come after me tonight? Will you tell me, or would you like to wait several thousand years?” 

Aziraphale let out a sigh. “Either the ineffable plan includes keeping you alive, or I just got very lucky.” He sat back down at his desk and Crowley took the chair opposite the same one he had materialized in earlier. 

Crowley listened attentively as Aziraphale explained the exchange at the bar. Crowley was an adequate listener by human standards and downright patient by demonic ones. Even this being the case, Aziraphale’s lengthy storytelling style and tendency to start much farther back in the narrative than necessary, always stretched Crowley’s ability to focus, but he learned over the many millennia that if he needed a piece of knowledge from the angel it was faster to not interrupt. If he asked him to be brief, this would lead to either a lecture on the importance of build up to a good story, or five extra side tangents that he swore the angel did just to spite him and sometimes both. He sat quietly and listened. 

“I found your car. Then I found this!” Aziraphale reached into the inner lining of his jacket and pulled out the photograph of Crowley beside the flaming Bentley.

“That picture’s wrong,” said Crowley, “It shouldn’t exist.”

“Do you have any idea where it might have come from?” asked Aziraphale. 

“Not a clue.” 

“You and I both checked the airbase. There was no footage left from—” 

“Wait! you said spray bottles!” Crowley interrupted, leaping from his chair, “but that was my idea!” 

“Crowley, I hardly think that —”

“You don’t understand. I threatened Hastur with a spray bottle, the least creative demon in all of hell. What if he stole my idea and got these humans to do it for him? It’s safer for him that way.” Crowley paced as he talked and gestured with exaggerated emphasis. 

“But they didn’t end up using spray bottles.”

“It doesn’t matter,” said Crowley, a slight hiss creeping into his voice, “You know how it works with humans. I temp them. You encourage them. In the end, they do what they want. Maybe they just didn’t follow his exact plan.” 

“You think they figured out that we tricked them?”

“If they have neither of us are safe.”

Aziraphale snapped his fingers and a cozy beige sofa appeared. “That’s it, you’re staying here tonight.” he said firmly. Then he looked over at Crowley “I mean…I think that’s safest.” Aziraphale’s face seemed to plead with him. “Un-unless you rather not.” 

Crowley smirked. Then with forced nonchalance, he walked over to the sofa and flopped into it. 

Aziraphale smiled. “Well, I could let you sleep, if you like, lord knows I have plenty to read,” said Aziraphale who sounded uncharacteristically disinterested in the idea of reading.

Crowley shook his head and pointed lazily at the wine bottle still sitting on the desk. He didn’t really think the night required alcohol, but he couldn’t bring himself to say, “Aziraphale just sit with me over here you idiot,” like he wanted. Pointing at the bottle yielded the desired results. After a few moments the angel handed him a glass and sat down beside him. 

Crowley raised his glass. “To my guardian angel,” he smiled warmly at him, but Aziraphale bristled in response, the color draining away from his face. He didn’t raise his glass. Crowley frowned. “I- I wasn’t being sarcastic,” Crowley said quickly, “I’m trying to say thank you for saving my life.” The angel didn’t meet his eyes. His glazed over expression, made Crowley think he hadn’t even heard him. “Aziraphale, you alright?” 

The angel said nothing for several long moments, the hollow expression remaining on his face. Then the corner of his mouth twitched and his eyes seemed to refocus on Crowley. 

“Yes, sorry just tired.” Aziraphale raised his glass. “To still being alive!” 

“To still being alive.” Crowley agreed, feeling very confused. They clinked glasses. Crowley took a sip, but the Angel hesitated swirling the wine in his glass instead. He stared at it for a long moment even after the mini vortex dissipated. 

“Aren’t you supposed to do that when you pour it, not after you toast?”

“What?” asked Aziraphale.

“You swirl the wine and make sure it falls in sheets. That’s what you’re supposed to do,” said Crowley, “to make sure the wine is still good, but before you toast, not after. After you toast you're just supposed to drink it. It's bad luck to put the glass down and not drink.” 

“Bad luck,” murmured Aziraphale before finally taking a sip.

The silence that followed made Crowley uncomfortable. He’d seen Aziraphale distracted plenty of times, but this was something else. The angel had looked more present floating around without a body than he did right now.

_ Does he still feel guilty about our friendship, about being friends with a demon? But he saved my life. He hugged me... Will he ever move past this?  _

  
  



	3. Gone Viral

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale is spacing out while remembering some demons from his past. Crowley is trying to make sense of it among everything else.

_The metaphorical clock face of reality had only begun to tick, and Aziraphale floated without physical form among the swirling teal and pink clouds. The universe was still in its infancy, the earth only hours old, but Aziraphale was far from earth. He couldn’t even see Earth from here. This curling arm of gasses jutting out into space had been his contribution to the nebula, a few small brush strokes on the universe. The thin barely perceptible golden wisps that curled and flowed throughout the space were added later by the second supernatural entity who now stretched out their black wings. They had been white once, his partner, his friend… Eyes that once held so much warmth now stared at Aziraphale hollow and cold. Those eyes shifted and fixed on the glass vessel in their hands, a malicious smile formed to replace the vacant expression_. 

_At that moment, Aziraphale felt a sudden weight upon him. Though he had no form to bear it, he felt it all the same. He saw in his partner’s mind and knew what he was about to do. The fallen angel tugged gently on the stopper twisting it loose._

_Aziraphale tried to speak, but could find no words. If he had spoken his voice would have been soundless in that way only an angel can hear. A wild grin formed on the black-winged angel’s face. He stretched out his wings high above his head and looked up at them for a moment; a hint of disgust flashed across his face. Then he met the true angel’s eyes._

_Azirphale shook his head. “Stop, please.” Aziraphale’s voice was soft and pleading. He reached out his hand silently asking for the glass vessel. Deep inside some part of him knew he could make no difference. He felt that stubborn defiance in his partner’s stare. He tried anyway. “Please don’t do this!”_

_The grin on the fallen angel’s face grew more twisted until it became unrecognizable._

_“Guardian of the Eastern Gate, how fitting,” The Fallen spoke harsh and sarcastic. The vacuum of space had no bearing on its sound, carrying the weight of those words all the same. Aziraphale looked on in horror as the Fallen raised the glass into the air. “Cheers to my guardian angel,” they said and brought it to their lips. Instantly their form melted away replaced only with clouds and a melted ball of glass._

_“Nooooooo!” Aziraphale heard his own voice shouting as if it wasn’t even part of him. His soundless notes of despair rippled outward through the universe. A moment ago there had been nothing but peace and now there was nothing but anguish echoing in every corner of creation. With no need to take a breath, his cry kept pouring out into the universe._

_A fine mist of liquid floated in space. The droplets caught the star light and made the entire spiral of gases sparkle. The beauty was unbearable yet Aziraphale could not stop staring. Earthly water would have frozen._

“Aziraphale, you alright?” Crowley’s voice pulled him back. The nebula faded but didn’t entirely disappear. 

_Crowley is still alive. I didn’t fail Crowley. Focus on that._

The demon sat beside him holding his glass waiting for a response to his toast.

“Yes, sorry just tired.” Aziraphale raised his glass. “To still being alive!” 

“To still being alive.” Crowley echoed. They clinked glasses. Aziraphale tried to concentrate on the moment, on the taste of the wine, on the knowledge that Crowley was safe, but time slipped away from him again. The nebula returned. Empty in all it’s terrible splendor and it was all his fault.

* * *

“Do you think the ducks miss us?” asked Crowley. “We haven’t met in the park in ages. You know I heard it’s not good to feed ducks bread, builds up gas and they can’t burp. It can actually kill them if they eat too much, and you’ve been doing it for years. Think about all the bad you’ve been doing for the poor ducks, and I’ve been the good one by not feeding them. Just like old times in the garden, right? You did the bad thing and I did the good one, well maybe. Who knows since it’s all ineffable.” He looked over at Aziraphale who didn’t seem to hear him.

Crowley had a tendency to babble when he was nervous and Aziraphale’s silence made him feel exactly that. How could his friend still feel uncomfortable with their friendship after everything that had happened? He couldn’t understand it. Then again maybe he was wrong. Maybe it was something else. The looming danger from both sides, worried Crowley. He hoped that was all that bothered his friend too, but he wasn’t convinced.

“We’ll sort this out, you and me. We’ve thwarted both sides before and we’ll do it again.” Slowly Aziraphale’s blank stare began to recede and Crowley kept talking, hoping to draw him out. “Aziraphale, if you’re tired you could try sleeping. It’s very relaxing. I think I enjoyed it a little too much back in the 19th century. I over indulged back then, I think it was just something to do, you know. Something to take it all away.”

“Take what away, exactly?” asked Aziraphale, his friend’s words finally dragging him fully into the present moment. 

Crowley took a sip from his glass. “The monotony of eternity,” said Crowley. “These humans get to lie down and forget they exist for hours every night. We don’t get anything like that.”

“You want to forget you exist?” Asked Aziraphale his voice with notes of concern.

“It was an escape, and sometimes you need an escape, although lately I haven’t felt I needed one.” 

“So this isn’t an escape?” asked Aziraphale holding up his glass and tapping on it lightly. 

“This,” Crowley raised his own glass and swirled it, “as we already established, is celebrating being alive with my very best friend. It’s the opposite of escape.” He took a sip. 

The angel smiled, a warm genuine smile, no hint of conflict on his face at all. Crowley visibly relaxed and settled into a comfortable slouch. 

“Oh, I almost forgot,” said Aziraphale. He patted his pockets looking for something. “Ah, here it is.” He pulled out Crowley’s phone. 

Crowley started to reach for it and then hesitated. “I don’t think I should touch that.” 

“I’m not an idiot, Crowley. It’s dry inside and out.”

“I didn’t think you could miracle away holy water. Isn’t that sacrilegious?” asked Crowley in an amused tone. The angel gave him a look that clearly indicated he didn’t appreciate the teasing.

“I made an exact duplicate and disposed of the original. This one has never touched holy water. It’s perfectly safe. It’s got all the same brightly colored little buttony things.”

“You mean apps?” said Crowley

“Yes, and all your data with the same phone number. I know how you can be about your tech gadgets.”

Crowley took it and turned it over in his hand. 

“I suppose I should thank you.” Crowley said out of centuries of habit, but when Aziraphale didn’t say “better not” he looked up and gave him an awkward smile. He didn’t say thank you. After thousands of years of not saying thank you it felt very strange to start now, besides the toast he tried to give earlier sent his friend off someplace else. He didn’t want to repeat that. Instead, he said, “You know, after centuries of meals together, I don’t believe we have ever had breakfast.”

Aziraphale smiled, “Unless you were suggesting cooking, then breakfast is still a long way off,”

“No, no more cooking for me.” Crowley unlocked the phone and began to scroll through it. We’ll have plenty of time to decide on-”

"Find me somebody to love. Find me somebody to..." the words came loudly and a bit discordant from his mobile’s speakers which, like all phones, were not really designed with music in mind. Crowley found the off button. 

“Sorry, not sure why that happened. I haven’t listened to that in months.” 

He completely missed the smirk on Aziraphale’s face as he scrolled quickly through the apps and found the contents were all there. He was about to start looking up restaurants that served breakfast when a video on YouTube caught his eye. 

“Oh no,” he groaned. “I think I’ve gone viral.” 

“Viral? But you’re not susceptible to human illness,” said Aziraphale. Crowley didn’t bother to explain. Instead, he clicked the image and handed him the phone. 

_“For I like the world as it is,”_ hissed his own voice. Aziraphale watched the short video, as Crowley shifted uncomfortably in his seat. 

"Oh, that’s quite the performance!" said Aziraphale. 

“I had to stop the crowd from becoming a mob. I didn’t know what else to do,” said Crowley defensively. He took the phone back as a second video began to play. Crowley gaped at it. “Shit, well that explains the photo.”

A burning car sped and screeched to a stop. He held it up just in time for Aziraphale to watch as the car door opened, and Crowley exited. Aziraphale squinted at the screen, for effect Crowley realized. The Angel had perfect vision. 

“The Demon of Tadfield Airbase - Unaltered Footage – Omens of Armageddon.” He read. They looked at one another frowning.

“This shouldn’t be possible?” Aziraphale said after a few moments, looking even more worried now than he did when he first asked him to stay. 

“We’re in agreement there,” said Crowley. His brow knit together as he tried to decide why the video made him less nervous. Then he grinned. “If this is all over the internet, this isn’t Heaven or Hell’s doing. It’s just not their style.”

“Gabriel hasn’t got a clue about the internet, not even after I tried to explain it to him,” agreed Aziraphale. 

Crowley laughed. “ _You_ teaching Gabriel about the _internet_? Oh, that’s something I would have loved to have seen.”

“Crowley, I _do_ own a computer. I understand them, so what if I’m not up on all the latest trends. I know how computers actually work.”

“I think we need to pay Adam Young a visit.” Crowley interrupted, before Aziraphale started to wax on about vacuum tubes.

"Adam reset the entire world. You think maybe he just forgot to delete footage from this particular security camera?"

Crowley, shrugged. “Let’s hope that’s all it is.”


	4. Mediocre Omens

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley and Aziraphale take a trip to Tadfield. Unusual weather for the time of year... Unusual Entities driving around in unusual cars that may or may not have been on fire depending on your perspective. Things happen... Things like snowballs, and tantrums, and hopes and fears...

The  _ Them  _ shouted and dodged snowballs in Hogback wood. This might seem perfectly normal if it were mid January but it was not. It was Saturday in late October and the ground was covered in several inches of fresh snow. It seemed strange to everyone else in the Tadfield area including the two supernatural entities heading down the road in a black Bentley. 

The only people who appeared unconcerned by the snow in the entire town were the children currently engaged in battle. Adam Young ducked behind a tree and lobbed a snowball. It hit Brian in the arm, and he fell down dramatically. Pepper ran over with a sled and dragged him back behind a wall of snow. Where, according to the rules, he would need to eat a sherbet lemon in order to heal and continue the fight. 

Dog, who had initially been very excited by the snowballs, lost interest when he found he was unable to retrieve them. Instead, he barked at a squirrel that had climbed a tree safely out of reach. 

A snowball whizzed past Adam's ear, but he barely noticed, his eyes now fixed on the approaching black car. It pulled to a stop and out of it came the driver, a lanky man wearing sunglasses, and a shorter man with bleach blonde, almost white, hair in a tan jacket. Two more snowballs sailed past him. 

"Please I didn't mean for it to happen!" said Adam. Aziraphale detected a note of terror in the boy’s voice.

"What didn't you mean to happen?" asked Aziraphale kindly.

"The snow,” said Crowley. “You did the snow.”

Adam nodded. "It’s just that before I fell asleep last night, I was thinking how brilliant it would be to have a snowball fight."

Aziraphale frowned. "Does this sort of thing happen often?"

Adam looked at the snow covered ground. "It happens a lot less than it used to."

"It's residual effects,” said Crowley. “Reality is still settling in. We talked about this. You will need to let go eventually.” Aziraphale looked over at Crowley and frowned. He had not told him he’d been in contact with Adam or that he still had these supernatural abilities. 

"I am trying, honest I am," said Adam, "It’s just sometimes things happen. I’m not doing any of it on purpose.” He looked at Crowley. “Just like I promised. I don’t want to mess about with humans.” The boy glanced between Crowley and Aziraphale, who frowned when he detected a hint of judgement in his voice. “I just want to be one of them."

Crowley stooped down so he was eye level with the boy and put a hand on either shoulder. “You are one of them. That’s reality now.” 

"He's not coming back, is he?" asked Adam nervously. 

A snowball hit Aziraphale's neck. The soft wet snow clung to his skin and as he attempted to remove it some of it fell down his back and began to melt.

The angel squirmed. "Oh, that's chilly,” he said, smiling slightly at having discovered a new sensation. In all the thousands of years on Earth he had not once engaged in a snowball fight. Snow always had the unusual tendency to hit anyone but Aziraphale.

“Adam are you even trying?” called a voice. “I get the feeling you're not trying.”

Aziraphale conjured a snowball and lobbed it playfully over the white wall. It missed all three children, but that had been Aziraphale’s intention, in case he miscalculated something about his very first snowball and hurt someone. Instead it harmlessly impacted a bag of sherbert lemons.

“Not the medicine,” cried a voice Aziraphale recognized as Wensleydale. “I told you we should have protected it better. Military hospitals are always set back from the enemy lines. I saw a program-”

“We’re doomed!” cried another. It was Brian.

“You’ll pay,” cried a girl’s voice, who could have only been Pepper. 

The girl's face peaked above the wall for a second and wham! A snowball hit Crowley square in the chest. Crowley had been trying to lay Adam’s fears to rest and had not been paying much attention to the snowballs until now.

“Oh, that does it,” Crowley jumped to his feet. His tone might have sounded menacing if Aziraphale didn't know him so well. Three snowballs materialized in the air. They hovered for a moment then zipped behind the snow wall. Three simultaneous groans from behind the wall told Aziraphale they had found their targets. 

Perhaps sensing something otherworldly about the attack, three faces poked up from behind the snow.

Aziraphale was pleased to see Adam still had his friends. The antichrist didn't need friends, but an 11-year-old boy did. 

_ Crowley wouldn’t have said anything dangerous to Adam.  _ Aziraphale reassured himself remembering Crowley’s improvised performance assuring the spectators he loved the word.  _ And we’re on the same side. It’s just an oversight, that he didn’t tell me. It must be. _

The three kids gaped, seeing the new arrivals clearly for the first time. 

"He didn't mean to do it," said Brian, "the snow, I mean."

“Actually, he didn’t, if that’s why you’re here,” said Wensleydale.

"I remember you!” said Pepper glancing between the angel and the demon. “You were there at the end of the world or… or something. It’s all a bit fuzzy but I remember you and you’re trouble.”

Aziraphale, who had spent over 6,000 years among humans, liked to think he understood them. He thought he understood that when Pepper said “they were trouble” she meant trouble in the way an ocean bird being very far inland might indicate a dangerous storm, not that they actually meant any harm.

“Bad Omens, that’s what you are,” said Brian, confirming Aziraphale’s assumption. Friends who spent as much time together, as he assumed these four did, often came to the same conclusions very quickly.

“Why are you here?” asked Pepper who got to her feet. The others followed suit and stood up to full height, but made no motion to come out from behind the snow fortress. 

"I expect, they’ve been on YouTube,” said Wensleydale, “I saw a new video this morning.”

"That was months ago,” said Bryan.

“No, I saw a  _ new _ one this morning,” said Wensleydale. “They accused him of being a demon. He turned it into a performance, which is actually rather clever, if he were a demon.”

Crowley glanced at Aziraphale with a smirk. “See someone gets it.”

Aziraphale frowned and his face flashed with concern.  _ I fully understand why you did it, but running backward into that alley. Please be more careful. _

Crowley looked at Adam. “What can you tell me about the video of the burning car?”

"You’re really sure he's not coming back?" Adam asked. His voice trembling ever so slightly. Aziraphale felt equal parts sympathy and satisfaction in seeing the very human reaction to a great evil. "I don't want him to come back. I really  _ really _ don't."

"No, I don't think so," said Aziraphale "We would be able to sense it, right Crowley?"

"Yes, absolutely. That’s done and over. You stopped it,” said Crowley with conviction.

Adam visibly relaxed. 

“But  _ you’re _ bad omens!” Brian said again. “You’re… You’re…” Brian was looking between the two of them confused. “But you can’t be? That was just a game. Adam said it was a game.”

“Adam’s right it was,” said Crowley “and we’re not bad omens. He’s good. I’m bad, so at best we’re neutral omens. Which makes us not omens at all.”

“Okay, that makes sense,” said Wensleydale. 

“But then why  _ are _ you here?” asked Brian who looked a little less confused.

The three kids glanced at one another then walked towards their leader. Pepper walked out in front wearing a look of defiance on her face. 

“We had nothing to do with the video,” she said standing beside Adam, “absolutely nothing to do with it. So, you can leave us to our game then, before all the snow melts!”

Crowley glared at her and Aziraphale knew he was biting back a number of sarcastic remarks. Aziraphale smiled. Crowley had a soft spot for kids. 

"Pepper, was it?” asked Aziraphale. " Listen, we’re both terribly sorry to have interrupted your game, but we have come all this way because it’s very important. If you know anything about how that video came to exist we need to know about it,” Aziraphale looked at Adam, “because, well, it very nearly cost Crowley his life."

Adam looked momentarily concerned and this brow wrinkled. "But you’re immortal.”

"There are... methods," said Crowley in a tone so ominous that a hush fell over Hogback wood. The  _ Them _ drew closer like they were about to learn a terrible secret. Even Dog stopped chasing the squirrel, and cocked his head to look in their direction. "Methods, my kind have to dispose of their own. A group of humans discovered one of them and very nearly destroyed me."

"How?" asked Brian.

"I bet it was Holy water, that's what my aunt says I watched this program at her house, about these demon hunters."

"Um, look," said Crowley "it doesn't matter how. What we need to know is are the forces of heaven and hell messing about with humans in order to kill us, or," he looked at Adam. "is there another explanation?"

"Adam had nothing to do with it!" said Brian.

"Actually, he  _ really _ didn't,” said Winslydale, "he would have told us if he had.”

Pepper put her hands on her hips, “That’s right!” She said, daring them to question her.

Adam sighed "I  _ would _ have told you, if I had done it on  _ purpose _ ," said Adam slowly, “but like this.” He gestured to the snow. “It was an accident. I just thought that flaming car looked really cool when we rode past it. When I saw the video, I knew it was me, but I didn't think it would do any harm."

Crowley looked down at his phone and began to read the title of the video "Demon of Tadfield Airbase! and you didn't think it might be worth mentioning?” said Crowley, anger creeping into his voice. “You told me about all the other  _ accidents _ .”

“I’m sorry,” said Adam and Aziraphale thought he looked very human in that moment. 

“Sorry, isn’t good enough,” hissed Crowley. “I could have died. Then there would have been no response to your messages. No one to reassure you. No one at all!” Crowley seethed. “Perhaps that’s what I should do. No more messaging back and forth. That stops. Not another one. You’re on your own!” A circle of snow surrounded Crowley instantly sublimated, leaving a patch of green grass as he stormed off towards the Bentley.

Aziraphale stood feeling unsure of what to do now. Adam looked more upset today than he had been when he thought the Devil himself was coming for him. His friends picked up on it. Dog had come back over and sat silently beside his master.

Pepper stepped in front of Adam protectively. “You can go then!” She yelled looking over at Crowley who was standing by the Bentley kicking at the tires. Then her glare fell upon Aziraphale and he knew she meant both of them. 

“He doesn’t mean it.” Aziraphale made an apologetic face as he looked at Adam, “Hold on a moment let me talk to him.”

Aziraphale walked over to Crowley, aware of four sets of eyes on him, five if he counted the former hellhound. As he approached, Crowley moved to open the door. Aziraphale reached out, meaning to grab his arm to stop him, but miscalculated and found Crowley’s hand instead. 

Crowley looked over his shoulder surprise, replacing most of the anger. He stopped in his tracks.

“Adam made a mistake, a very human mistake, by not telling you,” said Aziraphale, “and human is exactly what we want.” 

“That video almossst got me killed!” hissed Crowley.

“He couldn’t possibly have known that,” said Aziraphale. His friend was silent in response, but he did seem to be considering Aziraphale’s words. “Why didn’t you tell me you were in contact with him?”

“Oh, so now I need to tell you everything, do I?” said Crowley sarcastically.

“Well, so far as it concerns the antichrist, I rather thought you might.”

Crowley made a face. “It wasn’t a big deal. He was just scared, afraid his accidental miracles meant it wasn’t over. He just wanted reassurance.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” 

Crowley shrugged. “He was scared like a human should be. There wasn’t anything to worry about, but I was afraid you might worry anyway.”

“You weren’t worried?

“No, except…” Crowley kicked at the snow beneath his feet. 

“Except what?” asked Aziraphale, who still held Crowley’s hand and gave his arm a shake in an attempt to encourage him.

“Except about...you going back to your old side…”

“What?”

“I thought if you were worried...” Crowley glanced at him for a moment, but then his eyes resumed their interest in the snow. “Look, there was no reason to worry, but if you  _ were _ worried and thought Armageddon was going to restart… I thought… at the time I thought...you might have tried to warn them in order to get back on Heaven’s side.”

“Crowley, we're past all this. We’re on our own side,” Aziraphale squeezed his hand for emphasis. “I’m not going to leave you on this side all alone.”

For a moment Crowley stared at Aziraphale. Then his eyes darted to their joined hands and back to the angel’s face. Being an angel meant that if Aziraphale concentrated he could tell what someone was looking at even beneath dark sunglasses. 

“Right…” Crowley took a breath. “Right, well, of course I know that  _ now _ , but when Adam first messaged me…” Crowley’s eyes fell once more on the snow at his feet. “I guess, I wasn’t completely sure, and then it became harder and harder to tell you about it.” 

“A lie of omission is still a lie,” said Aziraphale. The words came out of his mouth automatically. There was no anger in his voice, just truth, filler words while he tried to understand what was really bothering his friend.  _ Is it holding hands? Should I let go?  _

“Yeah and I’m  _ still _ a demon… what do you expect?” said Crowley but his voice lacked its usual anger. He didn’t look at Aziraphale. He didn’t even pull his hand away, like a human would be expected to do.

_ It's the same kind of debate we always have about good and evil except... He’s also just going through the motions. I’m right something more is bothering him. _

“I guess, I’d expect...” began Aziraphale uneasily, “I hoped that I could expect…” He wished Crowley would meet his eyes. “ that I could expect my friend to tell me something that might be important, something that might pertain to the end of the world. That’s what you do when you’re on the same side.”

Crowley glanced at him. “I should have told you. There, happy!”

Aziraphale frowned.  _ Perhaps the direct approach.  _ “Crowley, are you going to tell me what’s  _ really _ bothering you?”

Crowley sighed. “Look, Angel, I don’t care what you think. Adam was scared, and I tried to help. He doesn’t have anyone who understands, because no one remembers it. His friends only remember parts of it now, because we’re here, as soon as we leave they’ll forget again. He’s alone in this.”

“He wasn’t,” said Aziraphale softly, “but I bet he feels that way now.”

“What do you want from me angel?” asked Crowley with frustration in his voice. 

“If you’re that worried about him being alone then why did you just abandon him?”

“Well, obviously because you disapprove,” said Crowley bitterly. “As soon as we arrived it was obvious you disapproved, and I’m sorry, but I don’t know what to do when my only friend disapproves of me.”

“Crowley, I don’t disapprove, I’m only wish you told me,” said Aziraphale, “the same way you wish Adam told you about the video.”

“You  _ don’t _ disapprove?” asked Crowley.

“Crowley, that boy has been through something no other human ever has, something, I hope no human ever will again. It makes perfect sense he would want to talk to you. If anything, I’m proud of you.”

“Proud of me…” Crowley gaped at him.

“Adam looks up to you. You can’t abandon him now. And yes, I was proud of you, Right up until you threw a fit.”

“A fit?” Crowley hissed. 

Aziraphale felt Crowley’s hand tighten around his and was momentarily confused by the mixed signal until he noticed Crowley’s other hand balled into a fist. The demon was so unaccustomed to holding hands he’d forgotten he was doing it. 

“I almossst died!” Crowley glared at him. “You might throw a fit too!” 

“But I did. You saw me.”  _ ...and if you really died I might have destroyed more than books…  _

“Um, right,” said Crowley, all the venom in his voice was gone now. He opened his mouth to say more and his jaw hung there for a moment. “Right…” 

Aziraphale smiled at him. “Then you helped me clean up the mess. I’m just trying to do the same, because I don’t think you really want to leave here like this,” said Aziraphale, “Go ahead, apologize to Adam.”

“I’m a demon. We don’t- We don’t apologize.”

“Is that so? Then what about the times you’ve apologized to me?”

Crowley sighed. “Oh, alright.” His eyes met Aziraphale’s, and he gave his hand a small squeeze before letting go. “Get in the car, angel. I’ll be back in a minute.” 

_ He squeezed my hand! That was intentional, wasn’t it? Oh, why do I allow myself to enjoy these physical sensations? Crowley couldn’t care less about these things. _

Aziraphale watched from the car window as Crowley walked back over to Adam. He knelt down at the boy’s level. After a few moments of conversation Adam wiped tears from his eyes and hugged him. Aziraphale smiled as Crowley walked back to the car. 

A large clump of snow fell down from one of the trees and landed on the windshield with a thump. Crowley made an elaborate gesture with his arm and it vanished. He climbed into the car and they drove off. 


End file.
